


muscle memory

by vineasphodel



Series: so used (to being used) [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, cross dressing, famous/non-famous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vineasphodel/pseuds/vineasphodel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"There are times where Harry's playing a show and watching the crowd, and at the far corner of his sight, Zayn is sitting at the bar with a glass of red wine in one hand. He'll raise his gaze and blink through long lashes and Harry will fall to his knees in worship."</i>
</p><p>or the sequel to so used (to being used) where it's been one year and harry and zayn meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	muscle memory

**Author's Note:**

> tbh i never thought i'd receive the feedback that i did with this verse but i'm so thankful. thank you for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks/recs/reads !! it really means a lot.
> 
> i really enjoyed writing part one and i know some ppl were unhappy with the ending, so here's part two!! (i realize it's terribly late and i'm so sorry but... it's here so lmao) the ending might still be unsatisfactory, but i think it's fitting ;))

“when i am alone i see you in the dark

i talk into the empty like you were with me

started on a cold night

felt you in the low light

noticing a reflex taking over me

i see you when i reach” 

\---- Lights, Muscle Memory

 

*** * ***

 

A sea of screaming fills the packed venue when the lights go down, shoulders bumping shoulders to get a better view of the small stage, sweat on the brows of the onlookers. The scent of sweat and stale beer stings nostrils, and in the back, a cluster of university students light up a smuggled joint with fumbling, chard fingers. Energy pulses through the room as fans purchase their merchandise, frantic hands shoving their money to vendors to ensure they find a place in the crowd before the show starts. A loud, impatient chant falls from their mouths and spills into the crowded space, fists in the air. And the sound is deafening as the band sprints on stage, all taking their places but one.    
  
Smaller shows always had a different appeal to them. Stadium shows were often too big, too distant and too out of reach. Faces don't become faces anymore, and instead become a section forced to be recognised as one big whole, individuality collapsing.    
  
But Harry sees the darkened faces in the back, the radiance of their energy charging the fire in his chest. And he could do this for the rest of his life; lyrics pouring out of his mouth, every person in the room reciting them back to him, reaching to touch any part of him when he gets too close to the crowd, grasping someone's hand while he sings to them. It's the kind of thing he lives for because he doesn't get to do it often.    
  
He opens with a song everyone's familiar with; upbeat and easy, gets the lot going and up on their feet. And although the stage's too small, he runs back and forth, makes sure to get to everyone in front row.    
  
The show goes on like they always do and he breathes into the microphone after another song, sweat collecting his hairline. He smiles as the crowd screams, begging for his attention when he licks his lips, the band behind him tuning their instruments and Sandy replacing a string he broke.   
  
"I wrote this next song the last time I was in London," he begins, out of breath and panting into the microphone that's pressed against his lips. "I, uh, I met this amazing person," the crowd goes loud with hoots and Harry cracks a smile, threading his fingers through his hair. "Dirty minds, dirty minds! Anyway, I met this person and they inspired me to write this. This is a song about how amazing it is that one single person can change your life, just change your perspective on something so complex like the world. Do you know what I mean?" He points to a girl sitting far left in the front row and she nods furiously while tears pool in her eyes.    
  
"This is my first time performing this song. I wanted to wait until the perfect moment to release it and being back here seems appropriate. You gotta do me a favor, though. You have to really, really feel it."   
  
The beat is slow, syrupy. Fans in the crowd move their hips in sync and couples grind into each other, tangling fingers in hair. Filth falls from Harry's mouth in a series of notes, his eyes closed and lips shaping every vowel perfectly. Mic sticky with spit, he grinds his hand down the front of his jeans and every time he grabs his dick, a roaring of screams cut through the music. The show becomes just that; a show of obscenities, innuendos of fucking and sucking. It warms the bellies of every body packed in the cramped and sweaty room.    
  
_ Do you remember my hand on the inside of your thigh? _

_ I got you so wet with my mouth and you begged for more, _

_ We fucked all night, baby, fucked all night. _ __  
  


An out of reach fantasy sits on the inside of Harry's teeth and tongue, spitting out onto the faces of people he doesn't know. His fantasy becomes their fantasy, something that could be seen, but upon reaching out a hand, it slips through cracks in fingers whenever they're near.    
  
And for Harry, it's pretending the taste of Veronica's lipgloss still sits on his lips, like he can slosh it around his mouth with his tongue, but it isn't there at all. It's pretending the sound of Veronica's moans dissolve into Zayn's and he breathes and pants into Harry's neck while he fucks him. It's wanting someone and never fulfilling the itch that needs to be scratched.   
  
There are times where Harry's playing a show and watching the crowd, and at the far corner of his sight, Zayn is sitting at the bar with a glass of red wine in one hand. He'll raise his gaze and blink through long lashes and Harry will fall to his knees in worship.    
  
Except, Zayn isn't there. And Harry opens his eyes to the last chords, mouth shaping the last vocals and too many pair of eyes stare back at him.

 

*** * ***

 

The night ends in a blur of sounds and people, and Harry smiles wide into his fingertips when he blows goodbye kisses to the crowd. They beg him for an encore and despite the fixed schedule, he get back into stage and closes for good with a famous 90's pop cover that gets the crowd off their feet for the last time that night. 

 

Over the drums, he waves to the room with a gentle hand and yells into the microphone, "Goodnight, London. You have been absolutely wonderful!" And then the last of the instrumentals vibrate off the speakers and into the chests of every body crammed into the venue. The lights go down and music over the speakers fill the silence as there’s a wave of people desperate to find the exits, other’s still fixated on the events that just occurred, trying to process information, sights, sounds, feelings. 

 

Swept away in a series of pushing arms, Harry's escorted through the back of the venue, changing in the midsts of sneaking past shoulders and shedding himself of ear pieces. Led by several team members, Dale stays close to his side as Harry strides down the long stretch of the corridor, still buzzing from his performance and tossing a shirt over his head to replace a fresher, cleaner, dryer one. He is kept at Dale's arms length, making sure Harry doesn’t stray too far or speak to a passerby for longer than necessary; they’re always on a schedule.  _ Things to do, people to see, shows to put on.  _

 

Light rain falls like small pelts when the back doors are opened, drizzle sprinkling Harry’s nose as a breeze passes and ruffles through his clothing. A black van is parked just outside the doors, sitting on the curb with smoke rising up from the muffler, car heated up and ready to go because there was never many time to waste.  _ Things to do, people to see, shows to put on.  _

 

The driver smiles at him when Harry approaches, holding the back door open and Harry pats him on the shoulder as he slips inside. Door slamming shut immediately behind him, warmth curls into his belly and boots, but Harry isn’t sure if his body is drenched in heat from the inside of the car or from the sight of the figure sitting opposite from him.

 

Glass in hand, Veronica sits with her legs crossed, black heels strapped to her feet and a crimson dress snug on her waist, strong shoulders tugging at the sleeves. Zayn’s tattoo’s are gone, matte makeup covering the designs and unlike the last time Harry had seen her, she wears her hair straight, ends touching just above her forearms. With careful fingers, she takes her glasses off her face and she bites back a smile when Harry pushes his hair off his forehead, mouth agaped. 

 

The sound of car doors shutting fills the silence and Veronica raises her eyebrows, expectant, but words cannot form on Harry's lips. He stares even as the car jolts into motion and the car starts moving, the tinted windows making the outside look like a world of moving shadows. 

 

"Cat got your tongue?" She teases in her clear accent, lips forming every syllable with perfect precision. Dumbstruck, it takes Harry a beat or two to process; Veronica peering at him with a curious and intense gaze, her leg crossed over the other. The corner of Harry's mouth quivers as he starts to smile. 

 

"How did you--"   
  
"Paul put in a good word for me." Veronica smirks behind her wine glass, her black polished forefinger twitching. She takes a sip before cradling the glass in her lap with both hands and fixes Harry with an amused expression, head tilting to one side. "I heard you missed me," she says, tipping her head in the direction of the venue. 

  
There's no way to respond to that. He thinks of dirty song lyrics; of sleeping in empty hotel beds, pretending she’s there with him and kissing his mouth, or Zayn touching Harry the way that he likes to be touched, all teasing and drawn out and whispering things that he'd like done to him and how.

 

Harry's mouth falls open, but words stick to the roof of his mouth and redness creeps on to his cheeks. Yet, there's no reason to be coy; Harry has already seen Veronica at her best, bent over and fucked with her mouth wrapped around his cock. Harry's dick twitches behind the zipper and he shifts, the leather seating squeaking with the movement. Veronica catches the way a not so subtle hand rubs against the front of his pants.    
  
"Can I be honest?"   
  
She pauses, the line of her throat bobbing when she swallows. The intensity of her gaze wraps him up and spits him out, leaving him feel dirty and exposed. He licks his lips to suppress a moan, heat raising in the pit of his belly.    
  
"I never stopped thinking about you." And perhaps it's too sentimental, maybe Veronica wanted an answer that's a little more vulgar, something that makes the inside of her legs shake and a whine fall from her beautiful mouth.    
  
But she blinks at him, her lips parting and her fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. The rise and fall of her chest is deep and heavy, and she tears her eyes away from Harry to bring her glass back up to her red lips, the last line of wine slipping into her mouth.    
  
Harry watches Veronica set down the glass on the station, nervous with her silence and he presses his hand harder into his crotch.    
  
Wiping around her mouth with two fingers, Veronica picks her gaze back up and peers at Harry through her lashes. She lifts herself up from her seat in one swift movement and straddles Harry's lap, pressing their stomachs together while her fingers tangle in his hair. His hands find her waist, digging his fingers into her dress as she leans her forehead on to his. Hot puffs of air fan Harry's face as she breathes, heat curling in his tummy when she grinds against his dick. His eyes flutter in satisfaction. 

 

"Kiss me," she begs, lips brushing his ear and he blinks slowly when Veronica's tongue and teeth scrape his earlobe, eyelashes fluttering. And Harry's thrown back to the year prior, sitting in the same position and he would have liked nothing more than to make her beg longer. He would have, if Veronica hadn't slipped a hand between them and pressed down on his erection. 

 

The sigh that escapes his mouth sounds like a sweet surrender and a hand climbs up her back to her neck, cradling there as he lifts his chin for their lips to meet. 

 

Her lips are soft and the bitter taste of lipstick invades Harry's mouth, Veronica's tongue licking at the inside of Harry's cheeks. And the kiss starts gentle, tender, but the overwhelming heat in the pit of Harry's belly gets the better of him; brings Veronica closer, hand bunching her dress up at the waist to get a palmful of her arse, the lace of her panties harsh against his skin. 

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, she jolts in her spot on his lap and her hand squeezes out of reflex. A moan elicits from his mouth, but the shock that follows is enough to make Harry break the kiss, keep their lips close while they breathe and his fingertip taps against the sticky, flat plastic. 

 

Veronica's cheeks flush a deep shade of red, licking her swollen lips to attempt to keep herself from smiling and Harry gazes at her with wide, surprised eyes. 

 

"Got yourself ready for me?" He taps against the plug for good measure and Veronica's eyes flutter. She nods her head fervently, circling her hips to get friction on their cocks. Blinking slowly, Harry bites back on his bottom lip as he presses his finger down onto the plug again, making Veronica moan and bury her head in his neck, her lips leaving open mouthed kisses while she breathes ragged breaths into Harry’s ear. 

 

Dick already hard, he guides Veronica’s hips with one hand as she moves, her mouth on his throat distracting. With careful fingers, Harry loosens the plug a little, Veronica sighing against his skin as she kisses along his jaw, all sucking and teeth biting that will bruise in the morning. Grinding back, she pushes her arse down onto Harry’s hand to get anything he’s willing to give, to just get something in her, just to feel something. 

 

Lifting her chin, Veronica kisses at the corner of Harry’s mouth before allowing their lips to meet again and the kiss is hard, bruising and desperate with the way her hand comes to rest on Harry’s shoulder to steady herself as she rocks her hips back. 

 

Harry eases the plug back and forth, fingertip circling Veronica's stretched rim each time she's left empty, and she moans into his mouth each time longer than the last. She shudders completely when Harry replaces the plug with two fingers, slick with the residue of lube on the toy. 

 

"Shit," she exhales, her hands fumbling with buckle of his belt, the jingle of metal the only sound above their breathing. And Harry lets the plug roll off his knee and onto the floor as his fingers work, easy and messy. Veronica wringing in his lap with impatience and pleasure. Harry relishes in it all.

 

She gets his cock out when the buckle comes free, too eager hands grabbing at the base of his dick, breathing heavy against Harry’s lips. Thumb skimming over the slit, Harry suppresses a moan by biting her lower lip and sucking it into his mouth, free hand roaming her back while the other keeps his pace with his fingers, hooking them just right as a means for his fingertips to brush over her prostate. She clenches against his fingers as he moves, Veronica tipping her head back a little causing Harry to bite down harder against her lip and press her closer to his chest. And his dick catches on the skirt of her dress as she jerks him off, precum smearing on to the fabric. 

 

Lips trailing along her jaw and under her ear, Harry sucks bruising kisses onto her skin, attaching teeth to her neck when he mumbles, "Come on." And as a response, Veronica's lips part as a gasp leaves her mouth, Harry's fingers deep within her and hitting her prostate with every drive in. 

 

The sounds that resonate in her chest and fall from her lips is enough to make his dick twitch in her hand, enough to roll his hips and meet her hand when she jerks down, enough to rub his fingertips along the stretched ring of her rim and bite on his lower lip when she smears the precum over the head of his cock in circles. 

 

"I'm gonna fuck you so good," he starts in panting breathes when Veronica moves her hand from his cock and reaches a sticky hand into her bra, "You won't be able to stand." And he manages a wobbly smile when Veronica snorts, and he's able to catch a hint of Zayn in the flash of her eyes as she retrieves a condom from the padding of her dress. 

 

“That’s some big talk there,” she muses, cracking a smile and her accent wavers, words slurring into what’s unmistakably Zayn’s. With fast moving fingers, she tears the wrapping open and slips the condom on, her tongue darting out and swiping over her bottom lip when Harry strokes a distracting finger down her crack. Sucking in a breath, it takes her a moment to collect herself, a slow hand tugging on Harry’s dick when she asks, “What happens when you disappoint me?”

 

Chest heaving a laugh, he hooks his arms around her waist as Veronica lifts her hips and holds a firm hand around the base of Harry’s cock. A smile of her own quivers at the corners of her mouth, sweat shimmering at the top of her flat chest and lining herself up, she lowers herself onto his dick. Harry watches as Veronica’s eyelids close, her mouth falling open and his own lips part as she engulfs him, clenching from the stretch.  “I could eat you out again,” he offers, voice lowering as Veronica starts rocking her hips back, Harry supporting her as she moves. He licks his lips when he continues with, “You seemed to be satisfied with that before.”

 

Veronica hums, tipping her head back and pressing her lips together, but moans start in her throat and she’s left sighing once she parts her lips enough. Leaning back slightly, she keeps her hands on Harry’s shoulders, knees digging into the leather seating. “I like you better like this,” she slurs, Zayn breaking the surface. And that’s Harry’s favorite part, when Veronica starts to crumble and he’s able to see where Veronica ends and where Zayn begins; the way her throat is exposed and the way Harry leans in to leave kisses along her collarbones, the makeup smearing and revealing the inky black lines of Zayn’s tattoos. 

 

They fuck like Harry thought about for the past year; teeth and tongue, biting at any slither of skin they can get to, their hands roaming, Veronica inching hers underneath Harry’s shirt and the pads of her fingers brushing over his nipples. Their hips snap up to meet the others thrusts, the motion of the car and potholes making it easier to cling onto one another by forcefully grabbing onto the others clothes, reeling them in and keeping them there. Veronica’s easy to slip into, her warmth swallowing him up and feels just as good when slipping out, the tip of his cock catching on her rim. She hiccups when he does, grabbing at his sheer shirt in a grip tight enough to rip it between her fingernails, her back tensing and Harry smoothes a hand over her shoulder blades once for her to relax back into it, moaning before she fucks her hips back up for more. 

 

Zayn makes his appearance when Veronica exhales harshly into Harry’s neck. “Fuck,” he mutters, slurring his words when he starts mumbling incoherently, the sign that Zayn’s close to coming. The perfume sprayed into her pulse points mixes with the musk of sweat and Harry’s hand scrambles underneath Veronica’s dress to get his hands on Zayn’s cock. “‘M coming, ‘m coming.”

 

“Gonna cum all over your dress?” Harry pants and gets another moan out of Zayn, suppressing his own by swallowing down and shutting his eyes. He rocks his hips up, lifting his thighs off the seat when Zayn grinds down in earnest. "Gonna be all fucking dirty now?"

 

"Oh my god," Zayn mumbles and Harry's hand finds Zayn's cock under the frill of his skirt as he's coming, strings of come lining Harry's knuckles. Dipping his head down in the space between them, Zayn's breath is hot against Harry's chest, lips just brushing his chin. 

 

But his pace doesn't stop, not when Harry puts a hand to Zayn's hip bone. He fucks and fucks, driving Harry down deeper and harder, and his hands are so fucking sticky with come and lube when Harry loses it. Zayn's forced to wrap his arms around Harry's neck and shoulders when Harry fucks him, Zayn's body going pliant. And he breathes Zayn and Veronica in, chin pressed against Zayn's temple as he comes. 

 

Vision blurry, he sees fucking stars as he comes down. Zayn, or perhaps Veronica, pants above him and smoothes out wrinkles in Harry's top, fingers skimming the skin marked by his swallow tattoos. Zayn glances down at him with half lidded eyes, dark irises and eyeliner smudged at the bottom like he was tearing. 

 

Pulling out with a grunt, Harry lets his dick soften against his tummy before peeling the common off and quite reluctantly, tossing it into the limousine trash can by the mini bar. And the high is unbelievable, with Zayn cupping Harry's cheeks with his damp palms while they catch their breaths, breathing each other's air and Zayn's thighs shake in Harry's lap. 

 

He heaves out a laugh as Zayn swipes his thumb across Harry's cheekbone, grinning wide and cheeky when he says, "Holy fucking shit." 

 

Zayn breaks into a smile, pressing his lips together as his hands skim over Harry’s collar, fingers tracing the lines of the year old sparrow tattoos. The memory floods Harry with warmth in the pit of his belly, biting back his lip when thoughts of Zayn’s apartment and the long night play back in his mind. Giving Harry a once over, Zayn purrs out in Veronica's accent, "Better than you remember, popstar?"

 

Assessing the situation and collecting himself, Harry's mouth twitches, not quite reaching a smile when a sharp fist bangs on the outside of the car window. 

 

"Let's go," they shout and Harry catches Veronica's gaze when he looks back at her. Her cheeks are dusted red, her lipstick smudged and her eyeliner a little watery. He brings a hand up to her mouth, a gentle pull of her bottom lip with his thumb and she kisses the pad of his fingertip. 

 

Something builds in Harry's chest, something that feels like butterflies. 

 

Opening his mouth, the words are unable to tumble out when Veronica pulls away from him, his skin buzzing from her absence and Harry's fingers curl into his hands involuntarily. She pulls at the end of her dress, chest rising and falling with every breath, and Harry tucks his dick back into his stuffy jeans as he watches her lean back against the car seat. Away from Harry, and away from his touch. 

 

It almost feels like a dream. 

 

There's a warning knock on the car before it opens, fresh and damp air seeping into the humid space, cool against the line of sweat on Harry's forehead. He blinks, disorientated, the smell of sex oozing out of the opened car door. Uncomfortable, Dale averts his eyes, clearing his throat as he cocks his head to the side as a means of telling them to get the fuck out. 

 

Harry's so unsure how to move. Veronica's lips twitch, fighting back a smile as she swipes her fingers around her mouth to get rid of excess lipstick, a large blotchy red stain left on her face that Harry's positive he has to match. He doesn't meet her eyes, but doesn't have to, the feel of her gaze on him hot. 

 

He doesn't chance using his words, afraid that his voice would fail him, mouth dry and sticky. Instead nods, the worn out button on his jeans jiggling as he scoots out of the car, legs wobbly when they hit the ground. 

 

The drop of temperature from the stuffy car to the misty outside makes Harry's head spin, blink twice and press a hand to the wet window, cooling the sweaty palm. Lights swim about his eyes and he sees the paps before he hears them; the flashing of cameras, the fast paced huddle they create, getting as close as they can without security threats. Vision obscured by dim lighting, the bright lights are harsh to Harry's eyes, makes him squint in confusion, like Veronica kisses him into forgetfulness of who he was, what he does for a living. 

 

She places her hand on his shoulder as she exits the car, her free hand pushing strands of hair away from her face and out of her mouth. And enamoured, like the whole world could fall apart and all he'd watch is her, Harry guides Veronica out of the car, let's her link her arm in his and lead her out into the hotel. 

 

And it almost feels like Veronica's the one that rules the world and Harry's a face in her life that could sink out of her consciousness without a second thought or without a single regret, a simple person in her extravagant world, somewhere he does not belong. 

 

She is everything and he is nothing.

 

Dale's hand is at the small of his back, but nothing burns more than the hand Veronica places at his bicep, her painted fingernails digging little moon shapes into Harry's skin, a little secret underneath his arm. It gets his heart fluttering, that butterfly like sensation taking him up and away, a head and body high. 

 

He floats into the hotel, into the elevator, down the hallway. Tunnel vision focuses on on Veronica and Zayn who peeks underneath her glasses, that knowing look in his eyes setting Harry's skin on fire, getting him hard, itching for friction, a touch, a mouth, a fuck. Cloud Nine shuts the door behind him and Harry memorizes every detail of Veronica's face when she presses him up against the door with their hips aligned, wraps her arms around his neck, and licks into his mouth. 

 

And it's dark, cold and damp in the lonely hotel room, but they greet the bed with Harry's back and Veronica's knees at his sides. They say hello with shallow breaths and low moans, making themselves at home by warming the sheets. It's bright behind the whites of their eyes as they come, hot with the shocks that shudder through them. 

 

And then it's no longer lonely. 

 

* * * 

 

Harry wakes to the sound of the shower running, his tired eyes fluttering open with his face pressed into the hotel pillow. His left side is cold with Zayn's absence, the comforter draped over the back of his knee. On the nearby armchair, Veronica's dress is draped neatly over the back, wig sitting on the seat cushion as the rest of her underwear litters the surrounding area, shoes tossed underneath the chair in a haphazard manner. 

 

He doesn't move for several moments, aches in shoulders and thighs, before he decides to flip onto his back with a grunt, staring up at the ceiling. He counts the seconds until the water to the shower turns off, the low hum of Zayn's voice audible if Harry strains his ears enough. Sultry, still a little groggy.  _ Sexy _ _. _ The corner of Harry's lips turn up. 

 

The door clicks open and Zayn enters the bedroom with a towel hanging low on his waist while he sifts another through the top of his head. A cigarette sits behind his ear.

 

Harry blinks. “You cut your hair.”

 

Zayn turns to face him, a little startled and expectant, but the crease in his forehead smoothes out on its own. He offers a small and sheepish smile, running his fingers over the buzz cut of his hair. “I wanted something different.” He pauses, biting his swollen bottom lip before asking, “Do you like it?”

 

Sunlight seeps in from the window, illuminating the end of the bed in streams of yellow and warming Harry’s foot that hangs there. “It brings out the features of your face,” Harry tells him honestly. The tips of Zayn’s ears redden and he looks away from Harry, tucking his lip into his mouth with what looks like nerves. Harry moves on to all fours, crawling to the end of the bed and flopping onto his stomach to pull on the end of Zayn’s towel deviously. “You’re incredibly beautiful, did you know?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Zayn scoffs but the twitch in his mouth gives him away. Reaching for his hand, Harry traces the new tattoo’s there on Zayn’s arms and he only has to pull once before Zayn let’s the towel drop, moving onto the bed. His knees straddle Harry’s sides, the tip of his cock brushing Harry’s lower stomach. Harry notes the soft intake of breath Zayn makes, cheekbones damp from the wet of his eyelashes and he holds Zayn’s wrists above 

Harry’s head. He breathes in the flowery scent of Zayn’s body wash.

 

Dipping his head down, Zayn ghosts kisses over Harry’s lips. Light, head dizzying taps that leave Harry lifting himself off the bed for more, just for Zayn to pull back.  _ Tease, tease, tease _ _.  _ His dick twitches against Zayn’s sack. His breath fans Harry’s face when he asks, “So, what’s on the agenda today, popstar?” 

 

“Got a show at eight,” he mumbles, eyes half lidded and too focused on Zayn’s mouth, trying to get Zayn’s lips close enough to his skin. “Sound check at five. Meeting at three.” His eyes flutter closed as Zayn connects his mouth onto the strip of skin underneath his ear, swipes his tongue, nips his teeth down to the pulse on Harry’s neck. Pressure builds in his abdomen and Zayn grinds his hips in slow moving circles. A moan escapes when he asks, “Are you gonna leave?”

 

Zayn doesn’t stop like Harry thought he would. He keeps kissing and biting, grinding and canting, and Harry’s grip loosens on Zayn’s wrists,  enough for Zayn to switch the roles. He grabs at Harry’s wrists, pinning them to the bed with some force and Harry’s heart stutters in his chest, thinking he may like this position just as much as he likes having control over Veronica.

 

“I was thinking about sticking around for a bit.” Zayn sucks a bruise an inch above Harry’s collarbone, high enough to be shone off in any shirt Harry’s sure to wear. When he licks his lips, Harry feels the wetness of Zayn’s tongue, despite the distraction of Zayn’s hips as he aligns their cocks. A hand loosens from Harry’s wrist to wrap around their dicks to jerk them off, the water on Zayn’s body from the shower slicking them up and making the slide easier. The arm that holds Zayn up shakes and Harry lets his free hand slip up Zayn’s back as his eyes close. “If you let me.”

 

The words get caught in Harry’s throat, moans falling from his lips in their place. But he manages a breathy, “ _ Yes, _ ” instead.

  
  


The last time Harry sees Zayn is before the lights go down. He lingers backstage, pulling back the curtain enough to watch the opening act. Luke presses his lips to the mic, deep voice resonating throughout the venue, but it’s Mikey and Calum that draws the crowd in with the way they gravitate to each other with ease. Harry can’t deny that they put on a good show every night. 

 

Zayn creeps up on him, pressing a hand to Harry’s lower back and Harry knows before he faces him. He takes his eyes off the crowd, off the boys and meets Zayn’s eyes underneath the flashing lights. There’s a smile on his mouth already, half of his face cast in shadows. He reaches for Harry in the dark, looping a finger around his belt loop and pulling him in enough for their chests to touch, an arm wrapping around Harry’s shoulders. The cold metal buttons to Zayn’s leather jacket press into Harry’s chest, his breath hitching against the skin of Zayn’s neck. 

 

“Good luck tonight.” He says it loud enough for Harry to hear him over the music and discreet enough for others to think it’s just a hug. But Zayn’s lips brush against the tip of Harry’s ear and his legs go shaky, Harry's hand coming up to rest in the dip of Zayn's shoulder. "Not that you'll really need it."

 

He lingers there a bit before Zayn pulls back and when the lights on stage flash before his eyes, Harry makes out the way his pupils are blown out, lashes long and casting shadows on his cheekbones. It makes him look younger in his over sized clothes, the heavy leather jacket making his shoulders look a little thicker, broader. But his face pale, smooth and boyish, and Harry's fingers twitch to push them past the plush of Zayn's lips at the end of his set. 

 

He makes a mental note and nods, swallowing thick and Zayn watches the movement with parted lips. And then his hands drop and Harry's whole fucking body won't stop buzzing and needing, turns his back on him and walks the fuck away. 

 

Harry takes deep, slow breaths in attempt to rid himself of the painful erection Zayn left him with. 

 

Nerves tickle at his insides when he gets onto the stage, knowing that Zayn's in the crowd but the lights are too blinding to make him out. But Harry imagines it just as he imagined it a million times before in a year; Zayn sitting at the bar, drink in hand, mumbling the lyrics of a song, Harry's song, to himself with a grin on his lips. It's a dream come true. 

 

Zayn gets to watch him work. Play the dance that being a musician is, Harry Styles the crowd pleaser. Harry Styles the crowd  _ teaser.  _ Harry thinks at one point during the quiet seconds between songs, Zayn shouts into the crowd  _ "Take your shirt off!"  _ And the crowd goes wild with agreement and Harry takes damn shirt off, shows off the love bites Zayn bruised into his skin. He runs a hand down his chest when a erotic lyric strings out of his mouth, unbuckles his belt just for the hell of it.

 

It's the best show Harry's ever put on. Probably because he was half naked for it, but fuck it. 

 

Veronica waits for him when Harry returns to the hotel room, bites into his neck and the patch of skin just underneath Harry's belly button. He runs his fingers through her hair as she presses her nose to the hair there, glasses slightly askew when she hisses,  " _ Mine." _

 

* * *

 

"Did you hear my new song?" 

 

Zayn nods lazily, flicking ashes off his cigarette. His free hand traces circles around Harry's bare ankles. There's a line of sweat that starts at his forehead, down his neck and onto his chest. A dry streak of neglected come begins to flake near his collarbone. Harry watches him with half lidded eyes, achy lip between his teeth and pressing down on the open gash Zayn bit into the flesh moments ago.

 

Outside, the sun starts to come up, the sky steadily turning a brighter blue. The stars fade, the moon sinks back and the sun begins to rise. If they weren't so high up, the birds probably would already be chirping with the start of a new day, the sound seeping into the cracked open window. 

 

They haven't slept yet. 

 

Sleep was creeping up on him though, with the way Zayn kept leaving gentle touches on him. Just the tips of his fingers, gracefully leaving feathery touches in their wake at Harry’s ankle, skimming over the lyrical tattoo’s wrapped around there. Goosebumps raise on his skin and he likes the effect Zayn has on him, smiles dumbly as he strums the guitar in his lap, quiet and slow. 

 

“Very sensual,” Zayn comments, voice a little hoarse with sleepiness and a soreness that could’ve only been caused by the abuse it endured when Zayn’s mouth had carefully wrapped around Harry’s cock, exhaling through his nose against the base and the blunt of his nails digging into the sides of Harry’s arse, pulling him in close until he was fucking into Zayn’s mouth, and Zayn was gagging lightly. 

 

Harry pauses, pressing his lips together, words on the tip of his tongue. The fuzziness in his head makes it too easy for the words to fall from his mouth, easy for him to share. His fingers flit over the strings of the guitar, roughing up the pads of his fingertips. "I wrote it for you."   
  
Picking bits of tobacco off his tongue, Zayn cracks a smile around his fingers, the feathery touches to Harry's ankle coming to a surprised pause. Raising his brows and resting his hands on his knees, wiping his spit covered fingers on his bare thigh, he fixes Harry with an impressed expression. Something like admiration shines in his eyes. "Yeah?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  


Zayn's eyelids look a little too heavy, but the way he smiles at Harry makes his fingers go numb, chest expanding with so much goddamn feeling, watches Zayn snuff the cigarette out in a used paper cup of water on the night table. Licking his lips, Zayn takes the guitar away and Harry lets him, sets it gently against the wall adjacent to the bed before climbing into the space in Harry's arms. He's still warm and damp, soft and pliant. Harry tucks him in closer.    
  


After a long moment, words comes tumbling out of Harry's mouth again despite himself. "Can I ask you a question?"

 

Zayn hums. "That was a question."

 

"I'll ask you another then," He tries instead and closes his eyes, the thoughts that's been jumbling around his head for a whole year sputtering out of him. "Have you slept with anyone else since...?" He trails off, the question suspended in the air between them, but Harry doesn’t think he has to finish for Zayn to understand.

 

Zayn tenses above him, eyes open with the way his eyelashes brush Harry's chest with every blink. The answer was apparent before it even left Zayn's mouth, but it did not stop the hopeful thinking that rattled Harry's heart. 

 

"Yes," he breathes against him, quiet, almost shamed. Harry rubs a hand over the tight muscles in Zayn's back like a reassurance. He doesn't meet Harry's eyes when he murmurs, "Have you?"

 

"Yes."

 

Picking his head up, Zayn meets Harry's eyes. He tilts his head to the side, the cold tip of his ear making Harry's tummy clench. A corner of his mouth twitches, amused. "Were they any good?"

 

"I could ask you the same question."

 

Zayn rolls his eyes. "I asked you first."

 

Pausing, Harry presses his lips together with his brows furrowed, considering the question for a moment. For a year, it’s been fucking to get the ache out, fucking without feelings, without the real, slow burn connection he’s been craving, like an itch he can’t quite reach. "It was,” Licking his lips, he attempts to explain the feeling; how his stomach didn’t quite tense like it had in Zayn’s apartment, how it took Harry over six months and three fucks to know that nothing else would be able to compare. Nothing would come even close. Dragging this thumb over Zayn's bottom lip, he watches his eyelids flutter. "Not as intense," He tells him, Zayn blinking slow at him once he catches Harry's thumb in between his teeth and bites down a little, just enough for Harry to feel the pinch. But he doesn't draw back. "Now you tell me."

 

Kissing the pad of Harry's thumb when Zayn draws back, he doesn't pull away like Harry thought he would, unguarded, "I fucked Louis." The shitty bartender giving Harry shitty looks, but strong and tasty drinks. "A couple times, after work. But it was…  _ not as intense _ ." 

 

Harry's eyes roll at the mocking tone, sending Zayn into a fit giggles. He climbs farther up Harry's chest, elbows digging into his sides before he plants a kiss on Harry's chin. 

 

"You know, Veronica likes you. She doesn't like a lot of people."

 

He cracks a smile when he says, "I'm flattered."

 

Zayn’s eyes darken, lips twitching. "You really should be." 

 

Lipstick is still smeared across Zayn’s mouth, eye liner and mascara a little smudged. Harry drags a finger over the corner of Zayn’s eye, picking up the black with the blunt of his nail. Zayn squints a little, but lets him pick up the remainder of the makeup, rolling his hips a little into Harry’s lap. His waist stutters at the movement, sensitive from their last round, but he figures if Zayn’s ready to go, Harry would settle into taking care of that with a curled tongue and plush lips. He thinks Zayn must’ve read his mind, the way he climbs a bit more up Harry’s chest to reach his lips. Their mouths connect in slow precision, the inside of Zayn’s cheeks warm and tongue slow. His fingers trace Harry’s swallow tattoos.

 

On the bedside table, Harry’s phone buzzes. Groaning into Zayn’s mouth, he really can’t imagine who’d be on the other end of the line, it still being too early for any functional human being to be awake. Zayn smirks against his lips, but Harry doesn’t stop kissing him, reaches blindly to his right to get his phone, nearly missing and sending the alarm clock to the floor with a crash. That sends Zayn into another fit of laughter, breaking away from Harry’s mouth and his eyes crinkling. 

 

Harry groans again, teasing this time and snatches his phone from the table. Blinking, the text message from Dale’s open with just a single link to the Daily Mail. Zayn notices the way that Harry’s brows come together and he frowns, kneeing Harry in the gut as he rolls onto Harry’s side to get a better look at the article when he taps on the link, safari loading. 

>   
>    
> 
> 
> **HARRY STYLES AND MYSTERY WOMAN?**
> 
>  
> 
> **Harry Styles was seen last night arriving at a hotel in London, hand in hand with a mystery woman. With that messy head of hair and lipstick stained lips, it’s pretty obvious what those two got up to! Is Styles dating? Who’s this glasses-clad babe on his arm? Only time will tell!**

  
  
Harry chuckles at the title, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth and he turns to find Zayn peering at him with raised brows. "I think Veronica's famous now." He muses, turning his phone toward Zayn to get a better look at the damage they’ve done two nights ago.   
  
Staring at the screen, a smile of his own starts on Zayn's lips and he shakes his head. His eyes droop in sleepiness. "She's already famous, babe."

 

“Yeah, but now she’s like, bonafide famous. She was seen with me, come on.” 

 

“God, your ego is so annoying.” Zayn flips onto his back, his shoulder blades digging into the juncture of Harry’s shoulder. With lazy fingers, he reaches for Harry’s phone and scrolls through the article, eyes tired but he breaks out into a smile at some point, laughing through his nose. “Apparently, they’re judging you for not taking me out to dinner first.” He glances in Harry’s direction, eyes narrowing and a devious grin plastered on his swollen mouth. 

 

“Technically, I did. You know, the basket of chips we shared.”

 

Zayn sets the phone down screen first on his chest, Harry’s gaze flickering to the kiss mark just below the dip between his collarbones. Hickies are speckled about over the ink of the tattoos, in between the spaces of unmarred skin. He looks like he’s about to say something when Harry meets his eyes, but the dumb words blurt out before he could stop them.

 

“How’d you think Louis would feel about us?”

 

He looks surprised, the way Zayn blinks at him, lips a little parted in surprise. Harry’s never seen him quite off guard like he’s got him now and the muddy puddle of confusion colors behind Zayn’s eyes. “I--I’m not…” The words get caught in his throat, sticking to the roof of his mouth and the sides of his cheeks. He closes his mouth, swallows, and tries again, “Louis and I aren’t like that. We get a little drunk and mess around a little, but it’s,” Zayn doesn’t need to finish for Harry to get it, that it’s nothing serious and he shouldn’t be thinking about these kinds of things. He just needed to know for sure.  

 

Zayn traces patterns on Harry's chest with his forefinger, his lips pressed together. The silence fills the space between them, hanging in the air amongst the humidity of sex that lingers from the last time they fucked. Words sit on the tip of Harry's tongue, the need and want to say something flaring in his chest and Zayn pops it like a bubble with his low and mumbling voice. 

 

"Are you jealous?"

 

Opening his mouth, the words get stuck again. Admitting to it is embarrassing, get’s Harry’s cheeks and neck red with the thought. Zayn had to endure other men touching and degrading him for money, and the better part of Harry’s chest swelled with the thought that he was perhaps one of the very few people that fucked Zayn and Veronica with meaning. But Louis shares that experience now, knows what Zayn looks like with his head against a pillow, his eyes closed and lips parted as he’s being fucked. 

 

“No,” he lies, voice steady and leveled. Zayn sees through the facade with the way he chuckles into his hand before dropping it down below Harry’s belly button. Massaging the skin there with his fingers, he dips his head down to leave light kisses in the wake of his touches, Harry’s breath hitching, pulse quickening. 

 

Zayn hums, glancing up with knowing eyes but stays quiet, mouth too busy and Harry runs an encouraging hand over Zayn’s head. He feels Zayn's grin before he sees it, his free hand already slipping between Harry's thighs and palming his crotch. 

 

There's a moment of pause, Zayn mouthing at Harry's skin and Harry burning for every bit of it, needing to tug him closer, knees parting in welcome. But the slow drags of Zayn's lips brings a bittersweet feeling inside the pit of his gut, something that feels too much like s goodbye. 

 

"You're leaving soon," he states the obvious through gasps, but Zayn makes no induction that he's heard him. He wraps his hand around Harry's hardening dick, swiped his thumb over the head and licks his lips. 

 

"Tomorrow's your last show in London," Zayn reminds him, pulling Harry back down into the reality of things; his fans, his career, his music, his life. The blur of the last few days has been hazy with Zayn, Veronica, the sweet and addicting fucking. Thinking it would never end was so naive of him. "Unfortunately, I can't make it to Manchester with you."

 

"You could," the reply is instant, Zayn's tongue licking stripes from the base of his cock to the tip. Fighting the need to buck his hips up, Harry continues, "I want you to."

 

Zayn hums again, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking enough for Harry to tilt his head back into the pillows, nails clawing at the back of Zayn's neck. 

 

"I want you to," Harry repeats, voice a breathy whisper lost in the stuffy void as his chin tips up toward the ceiling. Light streams in through the window, morning coming with Harry perhaps not too far behind. The soft sound of skin against skin mingles with the wet and sloppy sounds of Zayn's mouth, and Harry opens his eyes and focuses long enough to watch the awkward angle of Zayn fucking into his hand, lashes damp and spit pooling at one corner of his mouth. 

 

He comes on Zayn's face seconds before Dale's phone call, the receiver held between his cheek and shoulder. He spits controlled words into the receiver as Zayn scoots up higher to straddle him, Harry fucking him two cramping fingers deep. Zayn's lips are plush and distracting and Harry has to cut the phone call short when it starts to get too much. It's so good it hurts, and when Zayn tugs at his curls and catches Harry's bottom lip with his teeth and bites, an easy moan resonates in his chest. The words play on repeat in Harry’s mind, lips moving to their own accord on Zayn’s skin as he trails wet kisses along the line of his neck. 

 

_ I want you to, I want you to, I want you _ .

 

“Fuck me.”

 

Zayn’s hips stutters and his eyes flutter open; dark, blown out and heavy with satisfaction. Picking himself off of Harry’s fingers, Zayn wraps a hand around the base of Harry’s cock, but is stopped by Harry touching his wrist. “No.” Thickly, Harry swallows and watches the look in Zayn’s eyes change, glossy eyes clearing enough to understand. 

 

It takes him a moment, Zayn’s gaze skimming over Harry’s body and it warms him from the inside out, a deep blush spreading to the tip of the butterfly wings across his abdominal. He presses a hand just underneath Harry’s tummy, lifting himself enough to reach for the condoms on the night table. A grunt pushes out of Harry’s chest as Zayn maneuvers himself off of Harry’s lap to get in between his thighs. Holding the condom with his teeth, Zayn brings one of Harry’s knees to his chest while Harry adjusts to find comfort in the awkward angle. He watches with anticipation stuck in his throat, Zayn tearing the condom open and pumping his cock a few times before slipping the rubber on with sticky fingers. Lube sticks to his inner thigh when Zayn grabs there, rubbing the head of his dick against his hole and Harry winces at the cold touch.

 

He hasn’t been fucked in ages, sucks in a sharp breath and resists the pressing urge to clench down when a wet fingertip brushes against him. It’s a slow burn when he’s knuckle deep, pausing for Harry to get used to the feeling before moving, the push and pull of a single digit. And then Zayn adds another and another, and then he’s three fingers deep and it’s hard to tell how much time has past, and Harry’s writhing beneath him, gasping with his eyes closed, brows furrowed, sweat starting at his forehead. 

 

“Love you like this,” Zayn tells him, voice so low, so thick it’s almost hard to make out what he says at all, and Harry wants to smirk, say something witty, but all that falls from his mouth are moans and Zayn’s name. Words fail to form and he struggles, reaches out instead to get Zayn closer to him, his legs wrapping around Zayn’s waist in an attempt to get him to fuck him, heels digging into Zayn’s lower back. 

 

Zayn obliges, guides himself inside and pushes hair off Harry’s damp forehead as he rocks forward. Their stomachs touch and Harry grips Zayn’s bicep, eyes glassy and lids heavy. The headboard begins to creak and Harry can’t look away from him, let’s Zayn lift his knee again and the pressure in his lower stomach makes his dick twitch, untouched, come glistening the tip and smearing along Zayn’s hip. He keeps stroking Harry’s hair and it’s comforting, soothing, a contrast from the times Harry’s fucked Veronica, or Zayn when he’s bent over the bed, arse in the air and spreading his legs wide. 

 

It’s slow, too slow, too rhythmic, too much for Harry to handle. Zayn pulls him in with his gaze and no matter how much Harry wants to look away, he can’t. Too mesmerized by the way he handles him, how his hand sifts through Harry’s hair and the back of his knuckles caressing his cheek. It almost feels like an  _ I love you. _

 

* * *

 

“You look like shit,” Dale grumbles, his arms crossed. 

 

Harry stares across the table, chewing the eggs on his plate and it takes him a moment to register that Dale spoke at all. He glances up, brows high on his forehead and expression questioning. “What?”

 

Dale frowns. Harry smiles, dumb and apologetic, the pink in his cheeks still as vibrant as it was hours ago in his hotel room, coming untouched against his stomach and Zayn kissing the side of his neck. His legs are crossed uncomfortably, bum aching and Veronica sits politely across from him. She sips her afternoon tea, hiding her grin behind her cup. She doesn’t meet his eyes. 

 

“Sorry,” Harry says into the quiet, although the curve of his lips says otherwise. Dale must get the hint with the glance that Harry sends Veronica, the small smile on her mouth as she picks at her toast, how no one even spares him a look when his eyes flit between the two. Guilty. 

 

He grunts again, standing from his seat and collects paperwork from the table. “I’ll be right back,” he emphasizes and Harry finds it comical the way Dale’s brows are high on his forehead. He might as well plaster the phrase  _ No funny business  _ across it. 

 

Veronica’s eyes are on Harry the moment the door clicks closed. She sets her teacup down on her saucer, licks her dark red lips and stands. Harry watches her, frozen, fingers curling into his palm as his heart beat starts up and he turns in his seat slightly as she approaches him. She takes a seat in his lap, breasts plush against Harry’s chest and a hand caresses the back of Harry’s neck, stick on fingernails scratching softly. 

 

The quiet is comfortable. Rain hits the windows and grey light softens the hotel room, casts shadows along Veronica’s face. Harry’s hand reaches out to play with the ends of her hair. She quirks up a smile, something bittersweet behind it, but Harry doesn’t comment on it and kisses her instead. Her mouth is warm and tastes of bitter Earl Grey. Harry kisses her long and slow, her lips parting tenderly when his tongue swipes the inside of her cheek and she moans into his mouth, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. She sighs. He breaks the kiss, presses his lips on her jaw and leaves his eyes closed.

 

“What time are you leaving?” 

 

Veronica makes no indication she’s heard him, doesn’t speak for a few moments before she replies. “After the show,” she says quietly in her accent. Harry wonders if she feels the way he feels; an emptiness in the stomach and chest and heart. “Louis is coming to pick me up.”

 

He thinks of long walks in dark streets, drizzling rain and numb fingers. He thinks of Zayn’s leather jacket and fucking Veronica on a sofa. He thinks of walking her home in the late nights, early mornings and kissing her goodnight against the door of her flat, rubbing his knee in between her thighs and her gasping into his mouth, reluctant to part ways and shut the door.

 

“Maybe I’ll stop by Temptation.” He doesn’t add the  _ to see you _ part. 

 

Her hand moves to his collar, plays with the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes are kind and maybe a little bit sad. With his free hand, he rubs circles into her thigh with his thumb. She sighs, content. The feeling is mutual. “Or,” she starts and Harry’s heart beat starts up again, pumping hard against his ribs, in his ear. Veronica’s fingertips brush a bruise on his chest, just underneath the thin fabric of the button-up. “You could stop by my flat.” She licks her lips a little as one corner of her mouth quivers in suggestion. 

 

Harry could definitely do that.

 

The door handle clicks from the outside before it opens and Veronica is out of Harry’s lap just as Dale comes striding in. His hands are empty, paperwork gone and he doesn’t say anything when Harry clears his throat and adjusts his dick in his jeans from under the table. Veronica continues to sip her now lukewarm tea, but there’s a blush on her cheeks that Harry likes. Either Dale doesn’t suspect anything or he doesn’t seem to care. Harry is thankful either way. 

 

She lingers by Harry’s side throughout the day, lacing their fingers together every now and again and Harry squeezes her hand in his in response. Her presence is warm, constant. He likes her fingertips brushing the inside of his palm. She watches him when he sound checks, has her glass of red wine as she listens, body swaying halfway through the set list. And she’s a little tipsy when he has to get ready for the show, when the fans are let in and the venue gets packed. 

 

This time she avoids the crowd in the hopes no one will notice her from the articles. They don’t. The lights go down and Harry takes the stage while she watches from the sidelines. In between songs, he runs backstage and she kisses him, bites his lip hard enough to become red and puffy, all teeth and bruising. Butterflies sit in the pit of his belly the whole night and he means every word he sings. Sings it for her, for Zayn. He doesn’t want the night to end, can do this all night. Sing his heart out and go backstage long enough to kiss Veronica. Head dizzy, heart hammering, cock semi-hard. He wishes he had more time. 

 

When the lights come back up again and the crowd starts filing out outside, Veronica’s leaning against one of the walls. Her head is tipped back, eyes lidded and her hands are behind her back. The line of her throat’s exposed. Harry stops, traces her body before he approaches her and presses a palm against the wall behind her head. 

 

She smiles at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing him in closer to her, their bodies almost fully touching. The crew behind them are ignored as their lips lock, slow, sensual. Too intimate for others to see. “My ride is here,” she whispers to him and there isn’t enough time. Their lips brush and Harry fights the groan that rumbles in his throat. The hand at her waist grabs at the fabric of her dress as if that’ll make her stay. “You going to walk me out or do I have to walk myself out?” 

 

Harry hums, noses her cheek and breathes in her perfume. Three days have came and went, and still he hadn’t spent enough time with her, or him. His schedule doesn’t allow Harry to have a normal life and he can’t be so selfish to tell Zayn or Veronica what’s been pressing at the back of his mind since he saw her in the car for the first time again. The three words that hang in the air, that presses at the back of his throat, that’s on the tip of his tongue now. It’d ruin everything. 

 

Instead, he says, “I don’t want you to leave,” and sucks the skin underneath her ear. She sighs again, a hand on his chest and he backs away when she pushes lightly, chuckling. Her hands fall into his and she tugs him along, leads him outside into the rain. He lets her, doesn’t fight it.

 

Anxiousness swells within him, creeps into his bones and skin. Veronica’s hand in his is numb. The cold hits him like a brick to the face when they step outside. He recognizes Louis from the car across the street and Dale stuffing Veronica’s bags into the trunk. And he’s most definitely not ready when she turns to him, her hands in his, brushing the tops of his knuckles with her thumbs. Shit, this is really happening again.

 

He tries to fight the urge to look into her eyes and fails, gets sucked into her void, her beauty, her existence. A second goodbye is harder than the first.

 

“I wish we had more time,” she mutters in Zayn’s accent, smile sad. She knows they have to be brief and quick before a crowd of fans round the back of the venue to get a glimpse of him. The safety and serenity of the pier is long gone behind them. It’s a countdown now and he could feel Veronica’s heartbeat through her fingertips.

 

Harry tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and she bites her lip. Her eyes are red and a little wet. “When will I see you again?” 

 

She doesn’t respond immediately, takes the chance by kissing him again. Soft, gentle. The world spins and doesn’t stop. Her hand presses against his cheek. He buries one of his own into her hair and tucks the other into the small of her back. Memorizes how her mouth fits against his, how her lips feel and tastes. Their noses brush when they part, her hand falling to his shoulder, and then chest, and then it’s gone. 

 

He longs for her touch as she steps back onto the street. 

 

“When you write another song about me,” she calls and winks, and Harry tries to stop the face splitting grin by pressing his lips together. 

 

Dale holds the passenger door open for her. Harry can’t look away, meets her gaze as she’s driven away and blows him a kiss. He catches it just as Dale crosses the street and puts it into his pocket, waits until the car’s down the block, and then out of sight. Harry sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. 

 

“Well, shit.” Dale mutters, crossing his meaty arms over his chest. They stand in the rain, clothes dampening and limbs chilly. The lights of the city light up the night, and the noise of idle chatter and police sirens blare through the streets. Harry’s lips are still buzzing. His hand touches something rough in his jeans and he pulls out a piece of torn and crumpled paper. 

 

A phone number signed by Z. 

 

“Well shit,” Harry repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for the read!! hope you all enjoyed xx.


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